Minor Ailments
by Morgan72uk
Summary: Sometimes, even the path to happily ever after involves a few bumps and bruises. Jibbs
1. Back to Basics

Title: Minor Ailments

Author: Morgan72uk

Rating: T

Summary: Sometimes, happily ever after involves picking up a few bumps and bruises along the way.

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, don't have any money - and I probably shouldn't be doing this.

A/N - This is a series of linked stories, focussing on either Gibbs or Jen and minor ailments. You'll see that each story is complete and can be read alone - but they also fit together (or they will when I've written the next 3). And, surprisingly - they aren't all that angsty.

**Back to Basics**

Throughout the conversation in her office she'd been watching him out of the corner of her eye. Tony and Ziva were buzzing from the conclusion of the case; the big finish clearly an adrenalin rush. Even McGee was obviously proud of the way he'd handled himself in the fight they'd got involved in as they detained their suspect. But Gibbs was quiet.

It was scarcely noticeable, he was letting them tell the story, while somehow reining them in by his very presence. She knew that if they got too out of hand he'd be able to call them to order by a well-placed reprimand. Yet, there was something just a little unusual about his stance, about the way he was leaning against the wall watching them. And she was concerned.

Even so she almost missed it, almost didn't catch his grimace of pain when he pushed himself into a standing position to follow the rest of the team out. The others did miss it, too busy bantering and comparing the bruises and scrapes they'd picked up. Which was probably a good thing.

The report in front of her and the struggle the team had described was enough to tell her that he could easily have been injured, though of course he wouldn't say anything. They'd gone straight into an interrogation after bringing the suspect in and so he wouldn't have stopped for anything as prosaic as treatment.

"Agent Gibbs – a word?" The team looked as though they were trying to work out how the boss could possibly be in trouble – especially having just closed a fairly big case. But they left him to it, retreating quickly as though they feared she'd find a way to reprimand them too. But that was fine, because it was preferable to them realising why she'd really called him back.

When the office door was safely closed she pointed to the couch, "sit down Jethro, before you fall over." He wavered, looking mutinous, as though he was preparing to deny that there was anything the matter. She met his gaze, refusing to budge and finally he caved in, moving across the room and lowering himself onto the couch in a way that made her think he doubted his ability to get back up again.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs showing signs of human frailty – it had to be some kind of sign, could hell be about to freeze over she wondered?

She reached for her phone and dialled autopsy, keeping her eye on the man sitting on the couch as she waited for an answer.

"Yes Director?"

"Ducky – do you have the file on the Tyler autopsy?"

"I'm just finishing with it now – shall I send Mr Palmer up?"

"I'd like to discuss the findings in person. And, if you should happen to bring some medical supplies up with you that would be helpful." She heard the sigh on the other end of the phone.

"You, or Gibbs?"

"Jethro."

"I'll be there shortly." There was silence in the office while they waited for Ducky to arrive. Gibbs had leant his head back against the couch and now he didn't have to pretend for his team she could see that his face was etched with pain. She narrowed her eyes in concern but decided making him speak was probably a bad idea. Worry clawed at her but she kept it under control – if he'd been shot or stabbed there would be blood and if he'd been seriously injured the team would have noticed.

Ducky knocked but didn't wait for permission to enter. He held out the file she'd asked for and then fixed his attention on his reluctant patient. He flicked his gaze back towards her, giving a slight nod to indicate that she'd been right to call him.

"Jethro," he said quietly, "what have you done to yourself this time?"

"I'm OK Duck." Their colleague rolled his eyes and dropped his medical bag onto the table.

"Oh, I can see that."

Deciding to give them some space she collected a couple of files and slipped out to speak to Cynthia. When she returned a few minutes later it was in time to see Jethro slipping his shirt back on – the sight of the livid bruises on his chest and torso was enough to make her gasp, though she swallowed the impulse.

Instead she crossed her arms and looked at the two men, waiting for one of them to say something. Ducky packed some supplies back into his case and said, "the bruises are not as bad as they look – but his back muscles were in spasm. I've given him a muscle relaxant – it should start working soon."

"What happened?" She asked, this time looking at Jethro.

"You know what happened, it took four of us to subdue the suspect and his friends." He gestured towards the bruises, "that was an iron bar."

"I suppose it's useless telling you to be more careful next time?" He shot her a look which she didn't respond to. But which clearly indicated he didn't want to discuss this anymore – typical Jethro. Considering her options she decided on a more oblique approach and crossed to the drinks cabinet, grabbing the bourbon and three glasses. She poured a generous amount into the glass she slid across to Gibbs and smaller amounts into the other two glasses.

"Thanks," he took a swallow and she saw the tension in his body ease slightly as the warmth of the alcohol washed through him.

She could remind him that he wasn't getting any younger, that he needed to be just a little more careful. But she doubted he wanted to hear that and she was quite certain he didn't want to think too much about his injury. He was in good condition, he could take care of himself – but he didn't bounce back from injuries the way he had done ten or twenty years ago. None of them did.

She slipped out of her shoes and curled into the other corner of the couch, taking a sip of her bourbon. Ducky had settled into the chair opposite, watching them with what might be amusement. She shut her eyes, just for a moment – acknowledging that it was late and she was tired.

"This reminds me of that time in Dubrovnik," she smiled at Ducky's voice, placing the memory without difficulty.

"I thought we'd decided never to discuss that," she said, without opening her eyes.

"I can think of a lot of people who'd love to hear about the night the Director of NCIS started a bar brawl." He was being deliberately provocative - a sign that he was feeling better. She tilted her head towards him and this time opened her eyes,

"Jethro – you know very well I did not start that brawl, didn't even throw the first punch. In fact I was the one who talked the local Police Chief out of pressing charges." He grinned,

"He didn't press charges because you gave him your room number."

"I didn't tell him that I'd be sleeping in there." She didn't need to look at him to know he was remembering what she had been doing when the Chief of Police came to call and with whom.

"As I recall – the brawl started because Jethro decided that however much that smuggler was offering for a night with you wasn't nearly enough. I believe he was insulted that you weren't prepared to negotiate." She directed her attention back to Ducky – enjoying the memories of a time when they'd caused more trouble than Tony, Ziva and McGee put together.

"Actually Ducky, it wasn't me he was negotiating for a night with." Her gaze returned to Jethro, "he had a thing for former marines."

"I still think it wouldn't actually have turned into a brawl my dear, if you hadn't offered to arm wrestle."

"It wouldn't have turned into a brawl Ducky, if she hadn't beaten him."

"This is the thanks I get for defending your honour," she hadn't thought about those days in a long time. Only occasionally in the last three years had any of them made reference to their adventures – which was probably just as well. Having Ziva here was enough of a hostage to fortune. Between them Ducky and Gibbs could do a lot of damaged to her reputation – not to mention revealing why she hadn't been sleeping in her own hotel room when the Chief of Police came to look for her.

So, it was just as well she had plenty of ammunition of her own – and that both of her companions were very aware of the fact.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, three people who had, once, spent a lot of time together and grown comfortable in each other's presence. It hadn't all been drama and adventure as they'd worked their way across Europe. They'd made an incredible team and she'd learnt so much, from both of them. Though it was impossible to forget that she had undone all of that as well – severing their partnership for her own reasons.

"Better?" she asked as Jethro finished his drink and placed the empty glass back on the table. She could see the difference in his movements but she was still worried. The bruises meant that he had taken a beating, whether or not he was prepared to acknowledge it.

"Getting there," she rolled her eyes and glanced back towards her desk. Inevitably there were reports waiting for her attention, a diary full of meetings the following day to prepare for. But, it was late and despite her concern about Gibbs she was enjoying just sitting here, relaxing, with two people who she didn't have to worry about maintaining her Director persona in front of. Going home and having an early night suddenly seemed an incredibly attractive option.

"Jethro, you need to take it easy for a day or so," Ducky got slowly to his feet. "In fact I don't think you should be on your own tonight – just in case. I assume that won't be a problem?" He looked her dead in the eye and Jen was aware that with his assumption he'd managed to throw her off balance.

They'd been so careful, so discrete and she'd been almost certain that no one had realised. She glanced over at Jethro who looked as surprised as she did.

"It won't be a problem," she responded, confirming his suspicions.

"Good – I recommend a hot bath, a massage and an early night." He smiled to himself, "and not just for you Director." She didn't blush, but she did raise an eyebrow and try to look stern - though it had no real effect. He was enjoying himself far too much at their expense.

"Don't you have somewhere to be Duck?" you had to know Jethro very well to hear the amusement in his voice. Though it wasn't clear what he was finding so funny since he had agreed with her that they needed to keep this quiet.

"All in good time. You need to make sure your back doesn't stiffen up – I recommend gentle exercise." Ducky's gaze strayed between them and she definitely hadn't imagined the emphasis he'd placed on the word gentle.

"I'm sure we'll manage Doctor Mallard," she said, using her Director's voice.

"If you're wondering how I knew…" he paused in the doorway, "it was the bite mark on your shoulder Jethro."

"Anyone could have left that," Gibbs pointed out, Ducky smiled.

"I trusted my instincts that it wasn't just 'anyone'." As the door closed she glanced over at Gibbs, whose eyes were closed again.

"Shall I have him killed?"

"Messy," he responded.

"And a dangerous precedent." She sighed, having Ducky killed did not seem to be an option. As an alternative she closed the distance between them and curled carefully into his side. She was trying to avoid his injuries but, since he was the only person who didn't knock before entering her office, she decided to risk the contact.

He sighed and pulled her closer so her head rested against his shoulder. They sat in silence for long moments. She tilted her head to watch him, certain that he wasn't asleep, though he looked more peaceful now that the pain had eased. He proved her point a moment later, when she reached out to stroke his face and he intercepted her hand without even opening his eyes, pressing a kiss to it before letting go.

There weren't many moments like this – when she had leisure to reflect, when he was close and they weren't arguing about something, when she decided that she didn't care about the rule that said this was a bad idea. Their conversation with Ducky meant that the past was more on her mind than it had been for a while. Her feelings about that time were conflicted, so it was easier not to remember. But sometimes she could think back with affection. The past was a nice place to visit – but the present was looking pretty damn good at the moment.

"So," she said, toying with the button on his shirt, "about that massage…?"

The End


	2. The Eye of the Storm

A/N - so this is the second part - still set in the same universe.

**Minor Ailments – 2**

He'd only gone for coffee; left the building for twenty minutes tops and somehow in that time, all hell had broken loose.

One of the other teams was investigating a death linked to a new designer drug. They'd been interviewing a Marine who'd known their victim – he wasn't even a suspect – not really; when suddenly it became clear that he knew a lot more about the drug than they'd realised and that he should definitely have been a suspect.

Part way through the interview he'd gone crazy, clearly under the influence of the drug in question and fought his way out of the interview room. It had taken several agents to subdue him. In fact it had taken several agents and one Agency Director - who'd been passing and for her trouble had picked up a split lip and what looked on the way to becoming a truly spectacular black eye.

The situation was back under control now. The Marine had been sent off to hospital under heavy guard. Ducky was on patch up duty, but no one seemed to have been seriously hurt. At the moment he was finishing up with Agent Sullivan while the Director was leaning against the wall, she had already waved Ducky away once; clearly she had decided that she could wait until last for treatment.

Gibbs sighed and stepped out from the doorway. "You going to give me a lecture Jethro?" She asked, without looking over at him.

"No," he handed over his coffee and she took a sip carefully – grimacing either at the taste or because her lip was sore.

He wasn't going to lecture her, because he wasn't responsible for her choices – whatever he might think of some of them. And there was no way he was going to tell her that the corridors were already ringing with tales of her exploits, of how she'd responded.

He doubted she was happy about the black eye – but everyone else was delighted at the evidence that she still had the instincts of an agent. She pulled a face and handed him the coffee back, "how bad is it?" He smirked, clearly she hadn't looked in a mirror yet.

"Well, I doubt you'll want to go to that charity dinner tomorrow night."

"There is such a thing as make up."

"Not that much."

She brought her hand up to her head and probed her skull gingerly. As she touched one spot she went very pale and swayed a little. All at once it wasn't so amusing and he didn't know that giving her coffee had been such a great idea. "Did you lose consciousness Jen?" No one had mentioned that – but they might not have noticed in the confusion. "Jen?"

"I don't think so," he took her elbow and steered her to a chair, pushing her down.

"Ducky," the tone of his voice alerted his old friend and he patted Agent Sullivan on the shoulder as he finished cleaning up his bloody nose.

"I think you should be fine now. But take it easy." Sullivan moved to the door and seconds later Jen bolted after him, her hand covering her mouth.

The two men exchanged worried glances – certain that she was heading for the bathroom on this floor. "She OK?" Gibbs asked

"She may have a minor concussion. I'll check her over in a moment but you'll need to keep an eye on her Jethro."

"If I'd kept an eye on her this wouldn't have happened."

"I think you are rather overestimating your ability to keep her out of trouble." He shrugged, refusing to concede the point – though Ducky was right.

"She had to prove a point." His old friend smiled and shook his head, ignoring the grumbling.

"Would you have preferred her to stay safely on the sidelines? That's not exactly an option you know."

"I know." She wasn't a magnet for trouble the way DiNozzo was, but Jen had never been one to stand by and watch. Protecting her hadn't exactly been part of the deal, the risks were inherent in the job and they'd taken more than their fair share of them over the years. When she'd been his partner he had frequently been the one to place her in harms way, which made it pretty late in the day to start worrying about her health.

Except that she wasn't a junior agent anymore – she was the Director of a Federal Agency and she probably should avoid getting herself into actual fistfights; concentrating instead on tussles over budgets and turf wars with other agencies. But, it was Jen – she no doubt thought she could do both.

He was waiting outside the bathroom with a glass of water and a bag of ice cubes and when she emerged he handed her them both, taking a moment to look her over. "Ducky thinks you might have a concussion," he told her, "let him check you out."

"OK," the ready acquiescence was good news and he walked her back towards Ducky – standing close, but not too close; watching over her without being too overt about it.

Ducky's slight smile told him that his old friend knew exactly what his was doing and why. So far, he was the only one who'd worked out that they were involved and they were both happy to keep it that way. "What have you done to yourself, Jennifer?" he said in an oddly affectionate tone that still managed to be gently chiding. She sighed in response and stood still as he ran his hands over her hair line.

"Probably something very unwise. It must look bad if Jethro is restraining himself from shouting at me."

* * *

Two hours later his cell phone rang. He hadn't strayed far – not a deliberate decision, or so he'd say if challenged. He could have gone with DiNozzo and Ziva when they went to interview witnesses but he'd chosen not to, because Abby was working on some results. It had nothing to do with keeping an eye on the Director and her minor head injury. 

"Agent Gibbs?" Cynthia's voice was hesitant and he flicked his gaze up, almost expecting to see her standing outside the office. "I'm concerned about Director Shepard." He closed the phone without further comment and moved rapidly up the stairs to the Director's office. Normally he would stride past the woman whose job it was to guard her door but today he lingered, his expression asking the question.

"I thought you'd want to know," she said, just a little nervously. "I assumed you'd be going home with her, to make sure she was all right? To be honest – I think she needs to leave now."

His expression didn't budge and Cynthia was nearly intimidated enough to tell him that she was basing the assumption on a variety of small details that added up to the conclusion that the Director of NCIS was, very discretely, in a relationship. Admittedly the identity of the man involved was – if not guess work – then at least intuition. But the other bits of evidence had been pieced together with a thoroughness that under different circumstances Gibbs might actually appreciate.

It had taken her a little while to notice that the spare clothes the Director kept in the office were used and replaced more frequently these days, that she was actually leaving the office at a reasonable hour at least once a week. And then the week before Shepard had asked her to find a file she'd left in her briefcase and, while she been searching for it, she'd found a packet of condoms – opened. But more significant than any of this was the change in the Director herself. It was carefully concealed but Cynthia spent a lot of time with her, knew her moods well and there was no doubt that she was, happier, these days.

But, all of this information she kept to herself; because it was her job to protect the Director – and that included protecting her private life. ""I was in there a minute ago and it looked as though she had a headache."

He nodded once and headed into the office, still without commenting, very aware that not issuing a denial had been an answer all of its own. Between Cynthia and Ducky he decided that the agency's best kept secret was probably safe for a little longer.

"Jethro?" He winced when he caught sight of the black eye and then wished he hadn't when her expression faltered for a moment. He didn't speak, gathering the files into a neat pile and leaning past her to switch off her computer screen. "I was working on that!" She protested.

"You can work at home. I'm going downstairs to pack up my stuff," she shook her head and then winced at the movement. "Jen, you need to get some rest and take a couple more painkillers."

"OK," that was twice she'd given in without a fight, her head must be killing her. "You going to stay?"

"Unless there's an emergency." It was, they both knew, about as much as he could promise. "You want me to see if I can borrow some sunglasses from DiNozzo?"

"I have some," his surprise must have shown. "You think the only thing I keep in my desk is my weapon?" He wasn't going anywhere near that – but the thought of her covering her injuries had sparked a memory. He smiled, "what?"

"I was just thinking about Naples – that bar,"

"It was a brothel," she pointed out, knowing exactly what he was talking about. "And I still haven't forgiven you for telling the madam that I liked being tied up."

"Well, I wasn't going to tell her that you had rope marks on your wrists because you'd spent the previous twenty four hours in a basement tied to a chair being interrogated. Besides – she was impressed."

"Oh I know – she told me to ditch you and go to work for myself – she said I'd make a fortune with my looks and preferences." He laughed – in spite of the fact that the memory wasn't entirely happy. She'd been missing for a day before he'd managed to rescue her. They'd been on the run, hiding in a place that was full of other dangers. Every customer in the bar had looked at her with hunger in their eyes and at night he'd slept with her in his arms and his weapon within reach.

"Were you trying to prove something Jen?" Returning to the subject of her recent injury, still concerned about how it had happened.

"I turned the corner and they all came tumbling out of the interview room. I stepped into his path and tried to help hold him. He caught me in the face with his elbow and I think I hit my head on the floor when I went down. It was instinct Jethro."

He could tell her the next time her instincts told her to take on a Marine, pumped up on who the hell knew what, who easily weighed twice what she did she should just ignore them. But he knew her too well to even attempt it. Instead he leant over and kissed her carefully on the cheek – the gesture surprising them both because they were normally careful about displaying their intimacy where they could be seen. His lips lingered just a little on her cheek, "let's go home," he said.

The End


	3. A flu good men

A/N - thanks for the reviews. I hope you're enjoying the series. This is dedicated to Elflordsmistress - because she demanded a story about well - this!

**Minor Ailments – 3**

Agents scattered as she passed – one look at the Director's expression convincing them it would be wise not to get in her way right now and though they might have wondered how anyone could walk that fast in heels, they only did so when she was safely out of earshot.

The Director of NCIS was very aware that her progress from MTAC to Abby's lab had been far from sedate and calm. She knew she'd given away her anxiety, that there would be gossip, but she couldn't make herself care about that right now. As she rounded the corner she found Gibbs' team standing in the corridor outside the lab – Abby was with them, but there was no sign of the man himself. One look at their faces told her the news was not good and she fought down her spurt of fear for long enough to snap, "what the hell happened?"

"He just collapsed." Abby said. "He looked pale, I asked him if he was all right, he said he was fine – but…" Tony put his arm around her, "what if he dies?" She sobbed.

"He is not going to die," the Director said firmly, holding onto the belief with all of her strength because she was also Jethro's lover and she didn't want to face that thought anymore than Abby did.

"Ducky's with him," Ziva said, her tone careful and very similar to the one Cynthia had used when she'd broken the news that Gibbs had been taken ill. Her assistant knew about their relationship, though she pretended not to and now Jen wondered if Ziva had been doing the same thing, albeit a little more discretely.

Lately things had been a little difficult, they'd scarcely seen each other – she'd been busy and at night all she wanted to do was fall into her own bed and sleep. She tried to remember when they'd spent any time together and realised guiltily it was significantly over a week ago.

She itched to go into the lab, to find out for herself how he was; but she hesitated – not wanting to interrupt Ducky and while she tried to make a decision the door opened and the medical examiner appeared in the doorway.

"It's not serious," he said, his gaze meeting hers for a moment. "Jethro has flu."

"What germs would be brave enough to attack Gibbs?" Tony muttered and Jen opened her mouth to tell him to shut up, before something else occurred to her.

"How could he have flu? He had a flu shot."

"Should have had a flu shot." Ducky corrected and suddenly everything became very clear. Because it was Gibbs. Tony was right, he'd assume he was invincible, even to germs. And as much as she was relieved, she was annoyed as well – because she'd been scared out of her mind, imagining a heart attack or a stroke. "I've given him some medication – he really out to go home and sleep it off, but he doesn't seem keen on the idea."

She felt her temper flare, knew it was being fed by the anxiety. "We'll see about that!"

When she walked into the lab she almost felt sorry for him. He was sitting on a stool, his head resting on his hands and though he'd deny it she doubted if he could stand unaided right now. His skin looked pale and clammy and when she put her hand on his forehead she could tell he had a temperature. But, then she remembered that he could have prevented this if he had just been less stubborn and her resolve hardened.

"Hi Jen," he croaked, trying for a grin and failing miserably. She felt a prickle of guilt again, because if she'd spent anytime with him lately she'd probably have realised he was getting ill.

"Agent Gibbs – it is not acceptable for you to miss a flu shot, or any other type of immunisation organised by this agency – is that clear!" His head shot up and from the look on his face she could tell that the message had been received.

"It won't happen again," he told her.

"You're going home," she said firmly, "you're going to sleep, drink lots of fluid and take some medication."

"I don't need…"

"That's an order Agent Gibbs!" He looked startled, probably trying to work out what the problem was. "You scared your team, Abby was crying – and you scared me. So, you'll be going home." He dropped his head back onto his hands,

"Will you take me?" He asked quietly, the yearning in his voice making her stomach flutter. But it was impossible, she was supposed to be in MTAC even now and she wasn't due to leave for several more hours.

"I wish I could."

"I'll drive you home Jethro." Neither of them had realised that Ducky had followed her into the room. She smiled gratefully over her shoulder, even though she wished his offer wasn't going to be necessary.

"I'll come by tonight, see how you're doing." He nodded, though she could see the disappointment in his eyes. "DiNozzo can take over the team for the rest of the case, they'll be able to phone you if they need advice."

* * *

Now that they knew Gibbs wasn't in any real danger, his team was free to speculate about other things. McGee observed that the Director had seemed worried and in response DiNozzo announced confidently, "they are definitely doing it." 

"Doing what?" Ziva queried.

"Having sex, the beast with two backs, getting down and dirty and …"

"Do you really want to finish that sentence Agent DiNozzo?" He cringed at the sound of the Director's voice – but still he wasn't quite expecting the slap to the back of his head she delivered.

"You learn that from Gibbs?" he asked.

"Among other things. Gibbs is going home, I'm putting you in charge until he's well enough to come back to work. You will call him regularly and give him updates." Tony executed something that looked a lot like a victory dance and she sighed. "You will also give me updates – do not make me regret this." He sobered under her stern gaze – dropping the joker persona for long enough to give her a short nod.

"Is Gibbs OK?" Abby asked – obviously still worried.

"Ducky's going to drive him home, but you can go in and see him – you've had your flu shot I assume?" Abby nodded and headed for the door, pausing and turning back.

"Are you all right Director?" Jen sucked in a breath and exchanged a look with Ziva, who didn't want to meet her eyes. McGee shuffled his feet and DiNozzo shot her a smug grin.

"I'm fine Abby, but I'm due in MTAC." As she walked away she heard a soft whisper of, "they are definitely doing it." And wished she'd hit DiNozzo just that little bit harder.

* * *

It was after 7 o'clock – and though it was the earliest she'd left the office in weeks still she'd hoped to get away earlier. She had a bundle of files with her and a case that contained clothes and some food. The house was silent and dark as she left her bag in the kitchen. The only sign of life was, for once, not in the basement but in the main bedroom – if you could call the figure bundled up under the covers as a sign of life. 

"Jen?" a voice croaked.

"How are you feeling?"

"Cold," the face that peeped out from under the covers looked so pathetic she almost forgot how easily he could have avoided this.

"That's the fever," she pointed out – crossing to his side and noticing with exasperation the bottle of bourbon on the bedside table and the tablets Ducky had provided. The bottle had been opened – the tablets had not. "I'm not sure this stuff is the appropriate treatment for flu," she said, "have you taken any pills at all?"

"No," she knew he wasn't fond of medication – but this was hardly the time to be stubborn. She retreated to the bathroom for a glass of water and handed it to him – along with a couple of the pills.

"I brought some juice and some soup – you should eat something." Even in the act of taking the pills he eyed her carefully.

"You didn't make it yourself? Because you almost set fire to that apartment in London when you tried to cook soup."

"That was almost 10 years ago," she pointed out stiffly – not at all happy about reliving the memory of a culinary disaster. "Neomi made it," she said when he just carried on looking at her.

"I might try to eat something," he conceded, adding as she headed out of the bedroom, "are there any more blankets? I'm cold."

* * *

When Ducky dropped by twenty-four hours later she was just about ready to kill Gibbs. It didn't help that she hadn't got much sleep the previous night. It wasn't easy to share a bed with someone who was too cold half the time, which meant he wrapped himself around her to soak up her body heat, until he got too hot – when he threw the bed clothes off both of them. And then there was the coughing and the sniffing, neither of which were conducive to a peaceful night or her early start and full round of meetings. 

She'd called him throughout the day and DiNozzo had talked to him as well, though when Tony appeared in her office late in the afternoon he'd concluded his update with, "he doesn't sound too good." So, for the second night running she'd bundled up some files and transported her office to his kitchen table.

She'd expected him to be bored and irritable, she'd seen him recover from injuries before and thought she knew what to expect. However, she hadn't been prepared for bored, irritable and whiny. He'd called her back upstairs twice for no reason at all before she'd snapped and told him that she wasn't his nurse and only to call her again if he was at death's door. She'd just settled down with a cup of coffee and a report when the doorbell rang.

Ducky smiled, "I've come to check on the invalid."

"Be my guest," she gestured upstairs and returned to the small mountain of paperwork she'd brought with her.

When he wandered back into the kitchen half an hour or so later she handed him a cup of coffee as he told her, "I know it doesn't seem like it – but he is on the mend."

"Good to know."

"Gibbs is not the easiest of patients."

"That my dear Doctor Mallard is the understatement of the century." He chuckled,

"I remember a time…" for once he didn't finish the sentence – narrowing his eyes and looking across the table at her. "What's wrong Director?" She hated it when he used her title.

"You're asking the wrong person," she pointed out, "I'm not the one who's ill." He looked back at her, his expression soft.

"Last time – I wanted to ask you what was wrong, but I decided it was none of my business. I didn't ask - and you left. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice." She scarcely had time to work out that he was referring to her departure from Paris before he added, "what's wrong Jennifer?"

"It's nothing," she whispered – not quite able to look him in the eye, not ready to admit that maybe she'd been staying away from Gibbs these last weeks for a reason – even if she wasn't entirely sure what the reason was. "He doesn't talk and sometimes I can read him, but when I can't - I wonder if this is how Diane and Stephanie and whoever the hell else felt."

"It's not the same," Ducky said quietly, "he's happier now than I've seen him in years. I thought you were happy as well?"

"I was – I am. I just…" she ran out of words, not sure she wanted to explain that she didn't know how serious Gibbs was about their relationship and that the lack of certainty was bothering her. But Ducky let her off the hook, reaching across the table to pat her hand.

"I don't think I'm the person you ought to be telling this to. Talk to him this time, it might not be as difficult as you think." He finished his coffee and smiled at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "of course you may wish to wait until he's no longer ill – if you want him to remember that you had a conversation."

After Ducky left she sat at the table for what felt like a long time, thinking about his advice; what he'd said, what he hadn't said. Finally she shook herself out of her reverie, rinsing the cups out and picking up the file she was working on before heading upstairs. In the bedroom Gibbs was still buried under all the blankets in the house. She smiled, just a little at the picture he made and slipped out of her clothes, pulling on one of his T-shirts and crawling under the covers beside him.

Her companion was asleep but after she'd been working for about an hour she felt him stir. "Hi," she said quietly as he blinked up at her. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm OK," she almost smiled, because his tone made it apparent that he really wasn't. But instead she stroked her hand over his forehead, brushing some hair back, relieved that he didn't feel so hot anymore.

"Go back to sleep," she told him, "I'm going to work for a little while longer."

"I'm glad you're here," he said, eyes already fluttering shut. She watched him for a moment, hearing his breathing level out – but she hadn't missed the slight reproach in his voice, because though she was here now, she hadn't been around all that much lately.

"You and I are going to have a long talk when you're feeling better," she told his sleeping form. "Even if it kills you."

The End


	4. A head on points

OK - so, twice I asked Elflordsmistress to talk me out of writing this. She encouraged me to write it - which wasn't what I had in mind And it wouldn't quite leave my head - so, here we are. Please don't yell and allow me the slight license over ages.

**Minor Ailments – 4**

The Director of NCIS was not answering her cell phone and Leroy Jethro Gibbs knew this because he'd rung her 4 times in the last 10 minutes. Normally he'd just assume that she was in a meeting – but he'd checked her schedule carefully and he knew that she wasn't supposed to be in a meeting right now, which was why he'd called her in the first place.

She'd been gone for a week, visiting US based field offices and he'd deny that he was missing her; except that he was missing her. She was on the last lap of the trip now, only in New York and she'd be back tomorrow morning. A phone call was probably not necessary, but they'd managed to talk every day so far, even if some of those conversations had been mostly about business with just a few moments snatched for themselves.

He was acting Director, again; something she was finding particularly amusing. Though since she wasn't out of the country this time she was pretty much managing things from whichever field office she was in. But her office was a quiet and private location to make a call that sometimes became personal and if that was the only reason he'd was using it this week, well that would teach her to leave him in charge.

He could try her again later – but he knew she was due to attend a dinner for women in media or something along those lines and he'd wanted to catch her before that.

He looked at the cell, debating whether to call again and leave another message – trying to ignore the feeling in his gut that something was wrong. But then he remembered that he didn't ignore his gut, particularly when it came to Jen.

"Get me the Director's detail," he said to Cynthia as he emerged from the office, "she isn't answering her cell phone." Whatever Cynthia saw in his face was enough to persuade her not to comment, she nodded once and dialled – moving out of his way when the line connected without even suggesting that she transfer the call.

"Where's the Director?" he demanded at once.

"Agent Gibbs?" Even over the phone he could hear that the agent sounded just a little panicked. "The Director's lying down – she was taken ill a couple of hours ago and…"

"Taken ill?" He exchanged a startled glance with Cynthia, "what's wrong with her?"

"A migraine. The hotel called a Doctor – she left some medication and told the Director to rest. Do you want me to get her, I could…" He fought back the desire to say yes, because the very last thing she needed was for him to disturb her rest; she'd been tired lately and the trip hadn't helped.

"No. Tell her to call me when she wakes up." It was frustrating not being there; not being able to see for himself that she was all right. "Send Cynthia details of the medication," he added as an afterthought, "and have someone run a check on the Doctor – just to be sure."

"On it now."

"It's a migraine," he told Cynthia, who was still looking worried, "the Doctor told her to rest and the detail are sending you details of the medication she was prescribed; let me know as soon as they arrive."

"Of course. I'm sure she'll be fine Agent Gibbs." He wanted to nod and smile and agree with her – but it really wasn't that simple.

* * *

In autopsy Ducky was talking to a cadaver – a quiet, sympathetic conversation that was, of course, one way. Gibbs watched him from the doorway – marvelling at the care and delicacy in his movements, knowing that he'd be treated in the same way. 

"Duck," he said, coming further into the room. "Got a moment?"

"For you Jethro, I have several," Gibbs took a breath, knowing that Ducky would see something in his eyes, certain there was no point even trying to hide from him. "What's wrong?"

"Jen's ill – a migraine."

"Poor thing," Ducky tutted, "I didn't know she suffered from them."

"She doesn't – normally. She saw a Doctor, who gave her some medication. I need you to check it," he pushed the file towards him. "I need you to check it to make sure it's safe to be taken, during pregnancy."

At his words Ducky looked up, his expression surprised and then all at once compassionate. "How far along is she?" He asked carefully.

"About 10 weeks, she's been OK – tired, a little sick. We haven't said anything."

"No, of course not." Ducky looked at his old friend – seeing the worry, knowing it wasn't just because of the migraine; that this had to be almost impossible for him. "I know someone at Bethesda – I'll put in a call. But I'm sure Jen told the Doctor she was pregnant."

"Never take anything for granted," Gibbs replied, knowing that Ducky was probably right. "She was sleeping – I haven't been able to talk to her."

"Give me a few minutes."

It felt longer. Gibbs watched Ducky make the call, speaking quietly into the phone – presumably to whomever he knew who could answer the question about the medication. He'd been trying so hard to hold things together, trying to pretend that he wasn't scared – but he suspected Jen knew what he was feeling, even when he tried to hide it; she just hadn't said anything. Given that she was the one with the hormones running wild in her body, the one who's job could be at risk she'd been spending a lot of time making sure he was all right.

She'd needed to, he admitted to himself. He wasn't at all sure that this was a good idea – he'd never intended to have another family. But this was the only thing that she'd ever asked of him and even then, she'd only asked that they try. And it turned out that he cared about making her happy. So here they were, both quietly terrified.

"Jethro," Ducky touched him carefully on the shoulder, "the medication should be perfectly fine for her to take – and, apparently it's not at all unusual to get migraines during pregnancy, even if you aren't normally susceptible to them."

"OK," the moment of silence stretched and he knew that his old friend wouldn't ask – except that he found himself wanting to tell him. "We know we've pretty much got one shot at this; she wanted…" He shrugged, seeing Ducky nod.

"And what did you want?" Well, it always did come to down to that he admitted ruefully.

"I want her – happy," he paused, not sure he could risk saying the words aloud, as though the fragile spell would be broken if he risked it. But the smile in Ducky's eyes told him he'd already seen it. "I want the baby as well."

* * *

Despite Ducky's reassurance the residual anxiety didn't leave him until early evening when his cell phone rang. 

"Stop terrorising my security detail," her voice was quiet but he could hear her amusement and the knot in his stomach relaxed just a little more.

"You OK?"

"Feeling better."

When he'd realised the identity of his caller he'd started upstairs and now, with her office door safely closed behind him he said, "And you're still going to this awards thing?"

"I have to go. I'll pick up the award, give a speech, do a little glad handing and be back at the hotel in time to have a early night." He couldn't disagree with her plan, knew how careful she'd been about her working hours so far. She'd even given up caffeine – which hadn't been easy, on either of them.

"I talked to Ducky," he said breaking the silence. "I asked him to check the medication, make sure it was OK for, well you know."

"You think I didn't check that?"

"I wanted to double check. He talked to a friend, said it was fine."

"I know – but I didn't take it." He frowned, not altogether surprised but now wondering if she'd been completely honest about the migraine being gone.

"And the migraine's gone?" She didn't reply at once, "Jen?"

"Almost, I'll take the pills if it gets worse."

He let the silence stretch, knowing that she knew what he was worried about but not willing to talk about it like this. Hearing the rustle of movement on the other side of the line he asked, "you about ready to go?"

"I've got an hour – I've just had a shower."

"Oh," he knew his voice gave him away, but it was all too easy to imagine her sleek, flushed and not wearing a great deal.

"Jethro…"

"You've been gone a week," he pointed out – defending himself. He wasn't ready yet to give into the possessive, primitive tug at his senses when he looked at her, knowing what he knew. But it was there; so close he could almost breathe it in.

"And I'll be home tomorrow, think you can stay out of trouble until then?"

* * *

He had a plan about meeting her at the airport – but that was pretty much dead in the water when they picked up a case in the early hours of the morning. He was still at the crime scene when her plane landed and when he caught 5 minutes she was in MTAC, briefing SecNav. With one thing and another it was late afternoon before he breezed past Cynthia and into her office. 

He stopped short at the sight of her curled into the corner of the couch with files scattered around her and Ducky sitting in the chair beside her. They were talking, both smiling. "Working hard I see," he teased.

"Taking a break from repairing relationships after a week of your particular brand of charm," she shot back, her eyes drifting to the second cup of coffee he was holding. "But it seems you're forgiven."

"It's decaf," he said, reading the question in Ducky's eyes as he handed her the coffee.

"I think I'm getting used to it," Jen wrinkled her nose.

"And that's why you begged me for a couple of sips of mine last week," he reminded her. She looked fine, better than fine actually and he leaned against the table watching her and knowing that Ducky was watching them both.

"I was just telling the Director about the time I had my fortune told, in Marseilles." Ducky looked over at him, "Do you remember Jethro? We'd met up there after the two of you had been on that surveillance operation. There were a lot of us out that night, I don't know that I remember exactly how we ended up having our fortunes' told – or how the two of you got out of it."

"I don't remember," he said his eyes meeting Jen's, because even though it had been years ago he knew exactly how they'd avoided it. They'd only recently become lovers and had still been far too drunk with each other to want to be around their colleagues. After a few drinks they'd snuck away to do what they had already discovered they were very good at.

"Well, it was a very unsettling experience – she knew that I worked with the dead, that I talk to them and then as I was leaving she touched my wrist and told me that I shouldn't worry about only having mother; because my family would find me. At the time I thought it was nonsense but now, I'm not so sure." He got to his feet and then, surprising both of them and perhaps even himself he leant over and kissed Jen on the cheek. "Everything is going to be all right," he told her, glancing back over his shoulder at Gibbs, including him in the reassurance.

Left alone they were silent until he settled on the couch beside her, stretching out a hand to carefully rub the back of her neck. "How's the head?"

"Better – the nausea is a little worse." He sighed and carried on touching her gently, knowing that the contact was soothing both of them.

"Apparently massage and gentle exercise can help prevent migraines," he said – smiling broadly when she looked up at him, "I checked on the Internet." She raised an eyebrow at that and since he knew he'd surprised her he thought he ought to go for broke, "and I got some of that ginger tea you like."

Her eyes fluttered shut and they stayed like that for a few minutes longer, until his cell phone rang and Abby announced that her test results had turned up something interesting. He paused in the doorway, seeing her slide back behind her desk and reach for her glasses. She looked up, smiling over at him before turning her attention to a file. His breath caught, thinking about the changes they stood on the brink of and he hoped that Ducky had been right; that everything was going to be all right.

The End


	5. Holding on

Just don't kill me - OK?

**Epilogue**

"I don't think it's broken." The voice seemed to come for a long way off and though it was familiar it took all of his concentration to work out what Ducky was saying. "Jethro?"

"Hmm?" He looked up and found his friend leaning over him, pressing an ice pack to one of his hands.

"It's very badly bruised." Ducky told him and Gibbs wriggled his fingers, wincing slightly but not letting the pain distract his attention from the room across the corridor. He'd been watching it like a hawk for several minutes now, ever since Ducky had dragged him away to look at his hand.

"Thanks Duck," He got to his feet, "I'm just going to…"

"You know Abby's here, your team and Cynthia…"

"I'll be out soon. Tell them everything's fine." He knew that the team would forgive him, would wait for a while longer before their impatience got the better of them. He doubted that the hospital was pleased that their waiting room had been taken over, they probably weren't thrilled about the security detail either, or the media attention. But he couldn't do anything about that now.

"Give them my love," Ducky said, but he'd already pushed the door open, his gaze flicking straight to the woman lying in the hospital bed. Jen looked exhausted and more than a little dazed. She hadn't moved, hadn't taken her eyes off the baby – their baby.

"Is it broken?" She asked, looking over at him for a moment.

"No." He flexed his hand again, remembering how tightly she'd been holding onto it just a little while ago. He perched on the side of the bed and pressed a kiss to her forehead – careful not to disturb her.

"He's beautiful." His fingertips caressed the soft skin of the baby's cheek.

"He is," there was no need to move and not that much more to say. They'd got their miracle – even if they both knew they'd also given a huge hostage to fortune.

"I know we said no names beginning with J," she began carefully and he smiled, because it was a given that he could refuse her nothing at this precise moment.

The End


End file.
